


Here to Stay

by Medicalnonsense



Series: Here For You [3]
Category: Daft Punk
Genre: Label AU, M/M, duft pank - Freeform, grocery store au, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:11:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3784408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medicalnonsense/pseuds/Medicalnonsense
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been ten years, Thomas has taken on the persona of Roule, the owner of a successful label company in LA California.  Through painstaking measures, he's never shown his real face in press conferences or otherwise to maintain his privacy. At the same time, over the last decade, a genre-defining musical artist has been building his empire in the EU and is ready to market himself in the USA.  Much like Roule, however, this artist is very guarded with his personal appearance and is only known as Crydamoure, performing either masked or in full, flamboyant costume.  With Roule snatching the opportunity to sign such an influential artist on his label, he doesn't think much on the fact he has no idea what this person looks like...  Or that he possibly has already met him before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Entertainment--Phoenix

             “Yeah, I’ll see if I can pencil you in.”  
             “Did you just say _pencil_ me in?!  I am your best friend!  I am the greatest good you’re ever going to get, Bangalter!”  
             Roule gave a hearty chuckle in his throat, “I’m pretty sure that quote is reserved for only wives to use.” he peered down at the calendar taped to his desk just behind his brass name plaque.  In comically juvenile handwriting, he wrote “Lunch with Jules” on an open day.  “The fourth is the only time that I have…   
             “Considering I’ve been the only one to keep you from flying away on that inflated head of yours, I _deserve_ the title of wife at this point.  You can’t get your bachelor’s and master’s degrees at the _same_ time and not have someone standing by to just call you a big nerd.”  
             Roule shook his head, leaning his flat cell phone in the crook of his shoulder,  “I’m sorry, but I have meetings with this new signee all week.  If you’ll still be in town after that we ca--”  
             “Pfft, ‘new signee,’ you make this bozo out to sound like just _any_ new signee.” Julian jeered, Roule able to hear him settling back in whatever seat he was in.  He heard the bustle of other bohemian souls in the back just as the roar of an engine picked up.  Roule didn’t understand how that man _stood_ being on a bus every day, going from city to city.  “C’mon, let’s hear a name, buddy!”  
             “Okay, I have meetings with _Crydamoure_ all week.” Roule reiterated, a smile curving his usually dour lips.  There was a particular amount of pride in having collected such a prestigious name’s attention.  
             “Just one question, man…”  
             “What’s that?”  
             “When was the last time _you_ did a public interview without a bag or something over your face?”  
             “Uh…”  Roule thought for a second, “Not since before I marketed myself as Roule, but…  Why do you ask?”  
             “Nobody’s ever seen this man’s face and lived to tell the tale!” Julian reminded in a “spooky” voice, “How are you two gonna, like…  Know?” he laughed.  
             “Oh, uh… I know what his agent looks like.” Roule chortled along, it was, of course, a valid question, “To tell you the truth.  Short, skinny, long brown hair, blue eyes, kinda young.”  
             “Your type, eh?” Julian sniggered, “Get a new signee and a date with the agent?”  
             “No, he’s…” Roule rolled his eyes, “He’s a really left-field kinda guy.  Plus, he’s dating the guitarist from Phoenix.”  
             “Laurent or Chris?” Julien made a noise of thought, Roule could practically hear his tongue starting to press its way between the younger man’s lips.  
             “Laurent, he introduced us, actually.”  
             “Oh… Uh…  What’s his name?  Paul?” Julien snapped his fingers, sensing he was onto something.  
             “Yeah, that’s the agent.  Paul de Homem-Christo.” Which, that name always felt oddly familiar to him…  Though, considering Roule had difficulties getting to sleep since his career had really started taking off, his memory was a bit fuzzy at times.  
             “Yeesh, dating Laurent?  Quite the age difference there.”  
             “Eh, what’s a couple decades between lovers?” Roule shrugged in his office with a chuckle, “From my limited experience with them, Laurent is kind of a man-child anyway.”  
             “Well, you’re not wrong.” Julian went on to agree.  “When are you meeting with that Crydamoure guy?”  
             “Not with him, but I’m meeting with his agent in person tomorrow.  When we reach an agreement we’ll be scheduling when I’ll meet him, but that’s likely going to be the third.”  
             “What if you guy’s can’t come to an agreement?” Julian posed just to keep his friend on the phone longer.  
             “We will.” Roule smirked, “Nobody passes up a deal with me.”  
             “I’m so glad,” exaggerated snuffling noises met Roule’s ears making him fondly roll his eyes, “that I’ve rubbed off on you so much through the years.  My baby’s all grown up.”  
             “I’ve been saying this for _years_ Jules, I’m--”  
             “I don’t care if you’re older than me, Thomas, you’re just a socially awkward **twenty** -eight-year-old instead of a socially awkward eigh **teen** -year-old.”  
             “So are you going to be my mom or my wife?  You have to pick one.” Roule bit his tongue through his smile, tapping his pencil on his desk while his eyes roved over to his desk clock.  It was nearly time to go home and he had things left to finish.  He also needed to check down in the studio to see how the current client was doing.  
             “Isn’t there a saying that people marry their parents?  So, why can’t I be both?”  
             “I’ll see you when you get here, Jules.”  
             “Yeah, see you then, I gotta get some shuteye before tonight.”  
             “Where you at?”  
             “Some place called Ootah?”  
             “U-tawh.  Utah, Jules.” Roule corrected good-naturedly.  
             “Yeah, some place there, maybe Saltlake, I think.  Then we hit up Vegas tomorrow and then we’re out to Cali to see you.”  
             “Have fun in Las Vegas, but not too much.”  
             “I _remember_ your twenty-fifth birthday, Bangalter, you don’t.  Don’t talk to me about having too much fun.”  
             “Because why?  Who’s the one that just _handed_ me a bottle of tequila and said ‘drink’?  Hm?”  
             “Who’s the one that said ‘listen to me’?  Because it certainly wasn’t me.” Julian boisterously carried on, “Shit man, I gotta go, I’ll see you in a couple days.”  
             “Be seeing you.”  Both men ended the phone call and Roule plopped his flat phone onto its charging pad.  It had been a long ten years, he realized.  A long ten years with a lot happening and now, here he was…  Head of a big-name label with its headquarters in the heart of Los Angeles.  He realized, however, that there had been a price to pay in his success, there was very little separation between Roule the music label and Roule the person.  Eating, sleeping and breathing one’s job tended to do that to a person, but at least he enjoyed his work and it had turned out to be quite lucrative.  
             Truth be told, he was much more excited about getting to meet Crydamoure than he was letting on.  Truth be told, he had a lot more feelings than anyone really ever gave him credit for…  He had just gotten very good at hiding them, if he ever became _too_ overcome with emotion, after all, that caused serious stuttering. Which, in his opinion, was a _serious_ problem.  Jules knew, Stephane knew, Cynthia knew.  Speaking of Stephane, Roule figured that at some point, he really ought to ask him what Crydamoure’s temperament was like, as the two were somewhat friends and had even produced a few tracks together.  He didn’t need to go offending their newest signee right off the bat.  
              Realizing that he really didn’t have all of this time he was taking to contemplate the next few days, Roule scooted back up to his desk and went back to work on the huge stack of papers occupying his desk.  He needed to get all of this looked over and signed before the end of his work day.  Still weighing in the back of his mind was also that visit downstairs.  Also, was he out of milk at home?  Was there enough in the fridge for dinner?  Should he order out for dinner?  Did he also need to buy some more gin and whiskey? Then there was his drying cleaning…  Wait, wait, wait!  
             “Focus on papers…”  He reminded himself with a dreary sigh, going back to work.  
\-------  
             Once at home, Roule yawned and dropped his suitcase off where it “belonged” on his leather couch.  He put his shoes where they actually did belong which was right in front of the the door with all his other pairs of shoes in a perfect, neat line.  He dropped his keys in his punchbowl and shuffled to his kitchen to pour himself a drink.  As he sipped, he stared at his chrome refrigerator.  
             The whole kitchen was chrome and fancy and new, it was really a shame he really had no idea what to do with most of it.  While he enjoyed his cooking and had friends that likewise enjoyed it, he found food production tedious.  So, he never tried very hard when it was just himself.  
             Anyway, the chrome, pretty refrigerator was decorated today as it had been for a few weeks, reminding him of Cynthia’s impending wedding.  Also reminding him that, haha, you’re not married yet!  Not that that _really_ bothered him, marriage wasn’t for everyone, but it did remind him that he hadn’t had a steady partner in about a year.  He sipped his whiskey--he did need to buy more, but he had enough for tonight--and thought about what he wanted to do tonight…  Stephane had seemed in relatively high spirits online earlier, but really he wanted to hang out with Julian.  
              _So, a grand schedule of nothing?_ he asked himself, nodding.   _You know what that means…_  Putting his drink down, he bolted up the stairs as fast as he could in his three-piece suit, shedding the clothes as soon as he was inside his room.  “Sweat pants time!” He declared.  Or better yet… “No pants time!”  In just his boxers and white t-shirt, Thomas left his room, heading downstairs and remarking internally just how _awesome_ it was to not live with anyone.  
             With a stop to his kitchen, he poured himself the last of his whiskey in his glass and picked it up to sip at it.  From there he went to his living room, weary shoulders happy to be free from formal shirts, vests and suit coats.  Plopping down on his couch, he took in a deep breath and stretched out his bony body in contentment.  He then reached for his remote to put on Netflix.  Life was _good_.  
\-------  
             Sitting in his office, Roule was beginning to sweat.  He meticulously rearranged every pen, pencil, notepad, and paperclip-holder a total of nine times in the past half hour.  The agent wasn’t late, no, the agent wasn’t due for another forty-five minutes and Roule couldn’t stop himself from fidgeting!  He had thought that he had done away with this awful habit years ago, but, alas, his nervousness wasn’t _allowed_ to express itself in any other manner.  
             Maybe he would benefit from a drink…  What if he drank too much though?  He couldn’t meet with the agent drunk!  No sir!  Could coffee…  No.  Early lunch?  What if he didn’t finish in time and he was still eating when the agent arrived?  He could just eat really quickly then, but his stomach would hurt through the whole meeting and it would be _all_ he could think about.  Nope, sitting here and rearranging stationery was _obviously_ the best choice.  
              _Or you could call Jules…_  Picking up his cell phone, he dialed his friend’s number and waited through the rings.  He was half expecting the man to not pick up as he probably had had a late night.  Much to his surprise, however, the line _was_ picked up, albeit, instead of being greeted by a “s’up” or a “hey” he was greeted by the lovely sounds of what could best be described as gravel in a blender.  “Jules!” Roule yelled into the phone past his friend’s faked snoring.  
             “Can’t hear you over the sounds of how hungover I am!”  
             “Do you have any idea how rude that is?”  
             “Do _you_ have any idea who you’re talking to?” Julian quickly rebutted, “S’up T-Bang?”  
             “Waiting for the agent to arrive. It’s awful.”  
             “It’s just the agent.  What have you got to worry about, bigshot?”  
             “I could say something wrong.  He could hate me this time!  I-I-I--”  
             “Whoa, whoa, _whoa_ , dude, stop stressin’.  You’re _Roule_.  Mr. cool, calm, collected big-shot!  Mr. three Cs BS!”  
             Roule sighed into his hand, at least he hadn’t been wrong in calling Julian.  
             “Well, not the BS part, but you get what I’m saying.”  
             “Yeah…”  
             “Look, man, no matter _what_ happens today, this isn’t going to make or break your career.  You _got_ this.”  
             “I know, I know, just…”  
             “You’re Thomas Bangalter, I know.” Julian chuckled under his breath, “Never escaping it.”  
             “Not with you around.” Roule chuckled back, the jitters and nerves of his fidgeting hands calming.  “I got this.”  
             “And _I_ got a headache.”  
             “Thanks man, get back to sleep.”  
             The line went dead without so much as a “goodbye”...  Well, Julian wasn’t exactly known for his manners.  Or his willingness to look at an audience…  Roule smiled to himself, plucking up all the pens and letter openers he had laying around, placing them into his desk cup.  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, he was going to be ready.  Yes, just twenty-five more minutes and he would be good to go.  Yep…  
             A sudden knock at his office door about catapulted the man out of his chair.  
             “Y-Y-Yes?!” His voice squeaked.  
             “A Paul de Homem-Christo is in the waiting room for you now, sir.”  
             Damn, really?  Well, at least he would never have to worry about him being late, “O-Okay, uh…”  Deep breath…  No stuttering…  He _had_ this!  “Thank you, send him right up!”  
             “Right away, sir.”  Roule listened to his receptionist pace away from his door, drumming his fingers on his desk anxiously again.  Great, why couldn’t he just be _on_ time like everyone else?  



	2. Dandelion--Audioslave

             “ _Oh, Rouleeeee_!”  A giggling voice floated upwards to meet the tall business man’s ears as he pulled his office door open.  
             “Paul!” Roule grinned down at the significantly shorter man.  He stepped out of the frame of the door, allowing the man to swagger on in.  “Always a pleasure.”  
             “No, no, the pleasure is mine.” The charismatic agent winked, “How’ve you been?”  
             Closing the door after them, Roule finally had the opportunity to step up to the man and offer his hand to shake, “Oh, you know, same old, same old here.  Never a dull day.” That might not have been a lie but that didn’t mean it was _pleasantly_ eventful. “How’s Laurent doing these days?”  
             Grasping the hand, Paul giggled to himself, “He’s been a bit tied up as of late.”  The pointed smirk at the end of that statement told Roule _far_ more than he had actually wanted to know with that inquiry.  
             “Euh, I see.”  Not letting his smile falter, Roule pressed on, “How is Crydamoure enjoying LA?” He took his hand back, beginning to stroll around to the other side of his desk.  
             “He’s not.” The agent rolled his eyes in much the same way one would dismiss a grumpy relative. “Moreover, there’s been a minor snafu at the hotel.”  
             “Oh, really?” Roule frowned, “Please, have a seat.” he guided with a hand at the comfortable leather chair before his spacious desk.  
             Paul, his briefcase in hand, eased himself down into the chair, settling the case on his legs, “Of all things, a _booking_ error.  I don’t care if the boss of the Manhattan Mafia is in town, this is _inexcusable_.”  A sudden tick between the ordinarily jovial agent’s eyebrows told Roule just how frustrated he was with this transgression.  Though, they were there to discuss music.  Music _business_ , that was.  “That aside, I had my client read through that book you sent.”  
             “Book?  Come now, Paul, it was _only_ \--”  
             “Thirty-seven pages.” The man beat him to it with a fond giggle.  
             “Which…”  Roule began, finding this man’s lack of traditional staunchness to be refreshing “As you know, most of was just the usual dialog that our lawyers suggest.  I am much more…”  Hang on, he was _doing_ that again, “We at Roulé are far more versatile with our talent than the terms make it seem.”  
             “Speaking of which, you read?”  
             “Yes, I did, many stated concessions are going to be made, however, there were a few sections I’d like to go over with you today.”  Ah yes, he _did_ so have this.  Why was he freaking out earlier in the first place?  He was damn good at his job.  He was just being ridiculous. “I hope that we can reach some agreement.” Though Roule had always rejected this assertion, he had one of the most charming smiles out of any man his age.  
             Paul smiled back, his own was rather crooked, but held a confident smugness that refused to be ignored, “I’m sure we can, Mr. Roule.” he gave his pencil mustache a short stroke, leaning in to get down to the guts of their meeting.  
  
             “Jules!” Roule, excitement dripping from his tone, began, “I’m scheduled to have lunch with Crydamoure _tomorrow_!”  His fingers threaded up into his hair, his megawatt smile that was all too uncommon these days aimed down at his desk calendar.  Tomorrow, the third, Crydamoure was going to meet him for lunch with his manager and he was going to, hopefully, sign on with _Roule_.  “Oh my gosh, this is-is-is, so…  So….”  He paused to chuckle to himself, “I never thought I’d make this big, Jules.  I feel like I’m at the top of the world right now.  Call me back when you have the time.  I know you’re busy with all the shows, I’m coming with Stephane while you’re here if you want to party afterwards or something.  Buh-bye.”  
             Ending the call, Roule sat his cell phone down on its charge pad and leaned back in his chushy, leather office chair.  What was better than this feeling?  Well, off the top of his head, he could think of a few things, but, those things barred, he was pretty sure nothing.  The sweet taste of success was an intoxicating one.  
              _Now, now, don’t get carried away.  He hasn’t signed_ yet _just stay confident though.  Tomorrow is going to be amazing._  Oh, how he wished his parents were still around to see this day…  Graduation had been hard, enduring a million and one questions about where his parents were.  He had his grandmother though; he really needed to give her a call soon, it had been nearly a year since he had last visited.  Things had just been so busy for him though, she had turned ninety just last year and he was beginning to feel the pressure to visit as often as possible…  Did that mean that things always went according to plan?  No, not at all.   _Don’t think about that right now.  This is a happy time._  
             Distracting himself, he went about the motions of paperwork and writing himself notes.  More than anything he just wished he could make tomorrow happen faster.  
\-------  
             Like the dork that he was, the first thing Roule started his day with was listening to the music of the man he was going to meet for lunch.  Since the artist’s first successful single had been released--“Sunflower”--Roule had been hooked.  From that first listen, he had been intrinsically drawn to the soul of the masked artists work, he followed him through three other albums--all released upon different labels--and even possessed an artbook Crydamoure released.  
             With a dopey grin, Roule--no, Thomas--pulled down the heavy, hardbound tome of work.  The cover of the book was a bright, hot pink, sporting the classic winged shield.  Inside the plane of the shield was an inverted spade, a peering eye within it, above the shield was a banner reading “Crydamoure”.  Though he always assumed to have been imagining it, Thomas felt like the logo looked awfully familiar from the first day he saw it.  As usual though, he was forever unable to place exactly where from.  
             As his sound system played that momentous first single, Thomas flipped open the book to finger through the pages.  Once the chorus was reached, he muttered along with it “ _You banish the loneliness with your sunflower smile; you help me breathe where there was once no air; there were stars in your eyes and I didn’t forget all the while; that someday you were not going to be there_.”  The original storyboard art for the music video--hand-drawn and animated by the musical artist himself--had its own section in the book.  The little outlines of a sunflower blowing in the wind--a butterfly coming to land on its head--called to Thomas in a comforting way.  He thought to the psychedelic colors of the five second section of the music video these sketches came from and smiled.  In spite of the more depressing side of the lyrics it was a joyful music video.  
             Thomas was endlessly fascinated by people who had the ability to render life onto a page.  He didn’t know if that had started with his first boyfriend or if it had always been a fixation…  Music was something that had always been in his family, a talent for the visual arts was not so much.  Sometimes Thomas had to laugh that he hadn’t even properly mastered _handwriting_.  
             To interrupt this rapturous moment with his music and artbook, Roule’s phone vibrated to remind him to get a move on.  He still needed to go for a run, shower and eat breakfast.  Rather than go into his office today--given the joyous occasion--he had opted to work from home instead.  Still, he was a stickler for routine, so, he still had to go about his morning as _if_ he were going in.  
  
             That meant that Roule’s morning began with a jog.  In his shorts that were far too short for his far too long, furry legs he jogged his--nonexistent--ass around the block a few times.  His lucrative business had allowed him to become a homeowner in LA at a surprisingly young age.  Most of the others in his neighborhood either were or verging on their forties.  He waved to the same couple he passed every day he jogged, and smiled to his neighbor and his partner biking with their kids.  Same old, same old and by the time he was back at his house, he was feeling even better than before.  A wistful sigh broke from his lips as he trotted on up to his front door and stepped in.  It was a beautiful day in California--said the radio--and was building to be a scorcher.  Good thing for Roule he didn’t spend all that much time outside during the hottest hours of the day.  It would completely render his post-jog shower unnecessary if he spent all his day sweating.  
             His next order of business became breakfast, one egg, sunny-side up, with avocado on a slice of baguette.  He lifted his open-face sandwich to his mouth and took a bite, eagerly downing the whole thing before _then_ brewing his tea.  For a man that spent so much time frowning and his elbows buried in paperwork, he wasn’t at all unhappy.  He wished there were more hours in a day to do things--imagine that?  A day being forty-eight hours instead of twenty four?  There would be _twice_ as much time to do things and get stuff done!--he also sometimes wished he had two heads so he could think twice as fast, but only Jules knew about that musing.  
             Sipping his tea, he answered a few emails, feeling oh so productive, but also oh so comfy in his baggy pajama pants that just seem to immediately appear on his toned hips upon stepping from the shower.  A phone call was made, but his working from home was very placid and soothing.  Never in his wildest of teenage dreams had he assumed he was going to be the owner of a very _well-known_ company.  He was his own boss!  Tea and half-dressed and free-ballin’ all day long.  Not that he hadn’t worked for it, or taken some risks--some of which ended so badly he hadn’t been sure about how he was going to pull himself out--he truthfully didn’t feel like there was anything missing from his life.  
  
             Spinning a pen around his finger, Thomas stared at his computer screen, lips hanging so slightly ajar.  How about if he did…?  Reaching over, he tweaked a knob and adjusted a slider, observing the various altered wavelengths on his screen afterwards.  He played the sections back to himself a few times, lost to the world in his work.  The man was aware of his phone vibrating, but whomever it was could wait.  Didn’t they know he was on the verge of something here?  Something great?  
              He hadn’t created an album yet since this company became a thing!  Most, however, understood that completely; an artist had a track and once they moved from artist to producer they almost only produced others after that point…  Correct?  Well, not in Thomas’s world.  Big name producer with his own record label and everything to control and manage said _fuck that noise_ , nothing was going to stand between him and his ability to create.  
             Except his own creative block…  He played back the track he been arranging and gritted his teeth.  The ugly side of his perfectionism reared its ugly head and he tore his headphones from his curly, short-shorn hair.  Depositing the traitorous objects to the side of his desk he groaned under his breath.  
             It wasn’t that he had _nothing_ , it was quite the opposite!  He had _everything_!  This was so commonly the problem with him.  It had taken him so many years with this same material because there was just _so much_ of it!  Tracks with Stephane were wonderful, sweet, to the point; Thomas felt his tracks roam and drag, sheep without a shepherd almost, or at least a lazy one.  
             He needed direction…  That’s right, the head of Roule Records needed help.  A firm hand, one could say…  To his backside--what?  No, not now--that distracting thought aside, Thomas listened to his phone vibrate again.  Only half interested, he plucked up the phone and peered at its shining screen in his darkened studio…  
             “Oh, _sh-shit_!”  His eyes went to the time on his screen and he panicked.  He was supposed to leave the house _fifteen minutes ago_.  Scrambling out of his desk chair, he vaulted up the steps out of his basement and skidded on his foyer rug over the hardwood floor.  Successfully _not_ falling flat on his face, he took the stairs two at a time to his room.  
             What was he going to wear?  
             Suit?  No, too formal.  
             Jeans?  Oh, who the fuck _were you_?  Pharrell Williams on the red carpet?  Well, ripped or cut-off jeans would be required for _that_ look.  
             Realizing he didn’t have enough time to worry about any of this, he dove into his closet and pulled out whatever he could, dropping his pajama pants and just throwing it on.  Yes, this was very professional, uh-huh.  And just as professionally, he crammed his feet into whatever shoes were closest and grabbed his keys.  
             When it really came down to it, Roule--Thomas Bangalter had not changed in the slightest.  



End file.
